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I had the meanest mother in the whole world. While
other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or
toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a
sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different than the other
kids' also.
But at least, I wasn't alone in my sufferings. My
sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did. My mother
insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were
on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and where we were
going. She insisted if we said we'd be gone an hour, that we be gone
one hour or less--not one hour and one minute. I am nearly ashamed to
admit it, but she actually struck us. Not once, but each time we had a
mind of our own and did as we pleased. That poor belt was used more on
our seats than it was to hold up Daddy's pants. Can you imagine someone
actually hitting a child just because he disobeyed? Now you can begin
to see how mean she really was.
We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The
other kids always wore their clothes for days. We reached the height of
insults because she made our clothes herself, just to save money. Why,
oh why, did we have to have a mother who made us feel different from
our friends? The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by nine each
night and up at eight the next morning. We couldn't sleep till noon
like our friends. So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve
to break the child-labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes,
make beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she
laid awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us.
She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the
whole truth and nothing but the truth, even if it killed us- and it
nearly did. By the time we were teen-agers, she was much wiser, and our
life became even more unbearable. None of this tooting the horn of a
car for us to come running. She embarrassed us to no end by making our
dates and friends come to the door to get us. If I spent the night with
a girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to see if I were
really there. I never had the chance to elope to Mexico. That is if I'd
had a boyfriend to elope with. I forgot to mention, while my friends
were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old fashioned mother
refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that is, if
you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a
year.
Through the years, things didn't improve a bit.
We could not lie in bed, "sick" like our friends did, and miss school.
If our friends had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they
could stay home from school. Our marks in school had to be up to par.
Our friends' report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for
passing, red for failing. My mother being as different as she was,
would settle for nothing less than ugly black marks.
As the years rolled by, first one and then the
other of us was put to shame. We were graduated from high school. With
our mother behind us, talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of
us was allowed the pleasure of being a drop-out.
My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out
of four children, a couple of us attained some higher education. None
of us have ever been arrested, divorced or beaten his mate. Each of
my brothers served his time in the service of this country. And whom do
we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You're right,
our mean mother. Look at the things we missed. We never got to march in
a protest parade, nor to take part in a riot, burn draft cards, and
a million and one other things that our friends did. She forced us
to grow up into God-fearing, educated, honest adults. Using this as a
background, I am trying to raise my three children.
I stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when
my children call me mean. Because, you see, I thank God, He gave me
the meanest mother in the whole world.
